


Edge of the Abyss

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: Herald of Change [4]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age II Quest - The Last Straw, Gen, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Red Lyrium, Seekers, Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23266717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford begins to question the leadership of the Templar Order... all thanks to Hawke.
Series: Herald of Change [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636348
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

_Kirkwall Gallows, the Free Marches; 9:34 Dragon_

Five years.

Five years since he had been knighted a Templar of the Chantry… since he had achieved his boyhood dream.

Five short years since he had first tasted lyrium on his lips.

Cullen sat on the edge of his bed, staring intently at the empty vial in his hand – his daily dose of the lyrium draught that gave him the strength to leash rogue mages and castigate demons with his very will. Or did it merely lengthen the duration of the initiation rites that still lingered within him, satisfying the lustful song of the raw, primal power that had been seared into his flesh and even now pulsed in his veins?

On that day, he had become a Templar. He had rejoiced with all the rest, at first. But now, what once gave him assurance in his duty felt like a noose slowly – _ever_ so slowly – tightening around his neck.

He was not even certain why he felt that way about it now; he hadn’t in the beginning. Lyrium, as most Templars understood it, was what made them what they were. Without it, Templars were all but powerless against demons and mages alike – that which they were intended to oppose since the Order’s inception.

But with the lyrium came much more than just resistance to magic…

It took great discipline to manage the hunger – the perilous price for the power to protect innocents from the most dangerous threats in Thedas. Many Templars fell to temptation as they aged, unable to control their desire for more lyrium any longer. Some of this craving originated from a yearning for a strength that was not innate to humankind, only granted by the special draught they consumed in a daily ritual. Some of it came from a longing to hear that mysterious song in the back of their minds again and again, captivated by the humming chords they could not completely understand. More simply, some of it was merely to stave off the weakness that came from its absence.

And some of it, he knew, came from fear. Fear of what would happen if caught unprepared, against which lyrium served as a blessed shield. He understood that fear. He had experienced it firsthand – that primal fear of having one’s will, one’s self, one’s very _soul_ stripped from their being.

He ran a hand through his short-cropped curls and shuddered involuntarily as he was plunged headlong into memories he had pushed back behind a wall for three years. It was like a dam that was threatening to burst, and all he had to do was close his eyes, and he was _there_ again…

He had been fooled by the mages in Ferelden. Their mostly-benign natures had lured him into near-fatal complacency. Many followed First Enchanter Irving’s example, including the sweet Amell girl, who had managed to befriend him, in a way. They were both young, almost the same age, both with an eagerness for learning and a desire to do good for the world. She had passed her Harrowing with flying colors, and it seemed Greagoir would assign her to be Cullen’s charge afterwards. He did not complain, thinking that watching her would be easy… perhaps in more ways than one.

When Uldred overthrew the Ferelden Circle, many mages died… many more became abominations, revenants and arcane horrors, and she fell with them. And the demons used her, trying to break him by twisting his emotions against him. He was trapped, tortured, taunted, _tempted_ by _her_ face. He had trusted her, trusted them all, and that trust was betrayed. He was a fool… they were _all_ such insufferable fools…

He knew there were survivors, and he had begged the Grey Wardens that came to the tower to kill them. They couldn’t be trusted. None of them could be trusted. The list of terrifying possibilities was endless – they could be possessed, their bodies taken by more demons, or they could have been part of the coup to begin with and gathering strength in their sanctum. He cared not that they wore the faces of men and women he knew. The only way the rest of Ferelden could be safe was if they died.

But the Wardens had ignored his words.

Knight-Commander Greagoir sent him away to recover, to heal his wounded spirit as well as his body. But he knew he would never trust a mage again. They could not be treated as normal people. They were bottled destruction – disaster waiting to happen. One slip, and hundreds could suffer. He could not make the same mistake he made before by letting them get close to him again… by letting his guard down. Too many lives depended on the vigilance of the Templars. He had learned that lesson the hard way.

Upon his return to serve in the Circle, Greagoir officially transferred him to Kirkwall, to permanently get him away from the place that had caused him so much physical and emotional trauma. There, he met Knight-Commander Meredith and was quickly promoted to the rank of Knight-Captain when she witnessed his zeal and loyalty to the Order. Meredith understood what happened at Kinloch Hold and why, and she vowed no such repeat of events at the Gallows. He took comfort in such a vow, and with her confidence, he felt as though he had a new chance to prove his worth as a Templar.

Kirkwall’s mages were more vocal than those in Kinloch – that was something he learned fairly quickly. They were also more rebellious, straining against their metaphorical chains, and Cullen feared that First Enchanter Orsino was behind much of it, as he frequently conducted public disputes with the Knight-Commander. The more the mages fought, spurred by a desire for change, the more restrictions Meredith imposed, and so the situation was quickly transforming into a downward spiral towards inevitable disaster. Yes, the mages had to be controlled and watched carefully, but Cullen knew that if Meredith was not careful, she would cause more harm than good, and her vow would be useless…

It did not help matters that local apostate mages had been involved in a plot a few years previous to corrupt the Templars by subjecting their inexperienced recruits to demonic possession. This turn of events was something that had shaken him to the core – shook him even now as he reminisced upon it. He wondered why Orsino had not publically denounced these terrible actions, but the First Enchanter was mysteriously silent; this just made Meredith more suspicious of him and the Gallows Circle as a whole, and her already iron grip tightened all the more. Cullen himself had placed many new Templar recruits under constant supervision for months, even a year, just in case…

And as if that was not enough to make the tensions between Templars and mages in Kirkwall more passionate, there were the qunari. After years of being harbored in the city, the qunari Arishok became incensed with the way events in Kirkwall were managed and eventually mounted an attack on the Viscount’s Keep. Meredith and Orsino were forced to put aside their differences for the sake of Kirkwall’s people, and for once, it seemed as if the two might see eye-to-eye. Yet, despite their involvement in the rescue of the citizens, they were not the ones who faced down the formidable Arishok and ended the conflict once and for all.

That was done by a young apostate mage named Ainsleigh Hawke.

The name “Hawke” was not a new one to his ears. He had heard of Ainsleigh’s success with the Red Iron mercenaries, and her brother, Carver, had even joined the Order as a recruit. Cullen had suspected Ainsleigh’s magehood from the moment he had met her, yet she had taken care not to demonstrate magical abilities with Templars present, and so he had no solid proof to use against her. Her comrades guarded her well, and that, on top of her significant restraint, made her almost invisible to the scrutiny of the Order until the moment she rose up to save them all. Her skill in remaining hidden from the eyes of even Meredith made him uneasy, and he was unsure of her; there was a great possibility she posed a threat to them all, despite her actions to the contrary.

Yet, she had stood toe-to-toe with the Arishok in a one-on-one duel in the Viscount’s Keep and defeated him, using her formidable magic to defend the city and its people. That gave even Meredith pause, and to Cullen’s great surprise, once the fight was over, she willingly named Ainsleigh the new Champion of Kirkwall – a refugee apostate from Ferelden became a hero in the Marches. The Knight-Commander was willing to overlook Ainsleigh’s apostate status for the service she had done for the city; it was understood from that moment on that the Templars were to leave her be. And despite his lingering wariness of her, Cullen recognized and appreciated her brave deeds.

Unfortunately, Ainsleigh was unable to save the Viscount himself from the Arishok’s wrath, and his son had been murdered not long before. Thus, Kirkwall was left both rulerless and heirless. Meredith immediately filled that vacancy in authority herself, naming herself stewardess of the city – a move that he thought less-than-wise so soon after the Viscount’s death. This, of course, caused Orsino to publically condemn her actions, and the mages and mage supporters were now regularly demonstrating in the streets, despite the suppressive efforts of both the Knight-Commander and Grand Cleric Elthina. On top of that, Meredith and Orsino seemed to see the Champion as a potential ally in their endless conflict, and he had frequently glimpsed the leaders speaking with Ainsleigh on separate occasions. Cullen did not converse with her much, but from what little he knew of her, he suspected that Hawke did not wholeheartedly support Meredith. However, curiously enough, neither did she seem to fully trust Orsino, despite his being a fellow mage.

It was a position he found himself understanding, as he, too, was caught in the middle of the political scheming in Kirkwall. As the years rolled by, he became more and more uncertain about his Commander’s judgment. This latest move of hers seemed more like a means of obtaining greater power over the Circle than it was an attempt to restore order, no matter what Meredith told him in their meetings. And now, rumors were circulating throughout the Gallows that the Rite of Tranquility was being performed on mages who had shown no signs of dangerous behavior, at Meredith’s direct order...

There were also a growing number of Templars who were openly questioning Meredith’s actions. So much so that he could not ignore the complaints that were piling onto his desk every week.

He stared at the bright blue drops of lyrium still lingering in the glass vial in his hand, and his brow furrowed deeply. He could not help but feel that something was being kept from him… that communications were being lost somewhere along the line. He had initially dismissed the rumors of Meredith’s increasing paranoia about blood magic as baseless accusations. But now…

He absentmindedly turned the vial over and over in his hand, his amber gaze focusing on the far wall as he delved deeper into his thoughts. It was true that Orsino was not particularly active in discouraging blood magic and aiding in the hunt for the offenders in Kirkwall – the number of which was disturbingly high, if the reports from Guard Captain Aveline were accurate. But it was also true that Meredith was searching high and low for something to act upon, and it seemed more and more that if she could not root out blood magic where she thought it was, then she was willing to create a problem where none existed. Such would do nothing but damage the relations between the mages, the Templars, and the general public… this he knew. He believed in watching mages and protecting the populace, but he did _not_ believe in punishing the innocent. That was not what a Templar was. That was not what _he_ was.

And yet, any time he managed to work current events or dealings with the mages into a conversation with the Knight-Commander, it was conveniently cut off or turned in a different direction, after which he would be summarily dismissed from her office. Meredith was always brusque, but he could not help but feel that she was purposefully keeping him in the dark, now. There was something else in those cold, cobalt eyes of hers besides conviction, and it was unnerving. More than once, he felt as though serpents were crawling up his back anytime he spoke with her, lately, and he was uncertain of whether it was her or merely his growing suspicions about her obsession with blood magic.

Either way, something had changed, he was sure of it.

Glancing to his desk, he felt a sudden urge to write Mia. The last time he had sent her a letter was long after the Blight was over… after he had found out that his siblings had fled to South Reach.

After he found out that his mother and father had not made it out of Honnleath alive.

Mia had told him that they had died fighting, buying their children time to flee the darkspawn. He remembered feeling numb after reading her letter, wishing he had been there to fight alongside them… to help them somehow. Guilt consumed him, and he felt selfish for drowning in his own sorrows after the Circle incident. He was certain that, had he been there, he might have been able to save his parents. For two years after that, he sent large portions of his earnings to Mia to help support his brother and sisters after they relocated to South Reach. Eventually, though, she told him to stop, as they had found means of supporting themselves, and she did not wish them to be a burden upon him any longer. He reluctantly did as requested, and communications between them had since become less and less frequent.

He sighed heavily, putting the vial back into the kit on his lap and closing the wooden box with a definitive _click_. Rising, he moved to the sliver of a window in his quarters and peeked through the thick glass at the world beyond – the high walls of the Gallows, past which was the harbor and the docks of Kirkwall. Somewhere out there was the Champion, likely still doing her part to clean up the city. Even if she was an apostate, she used her magic to help people, and he could respect that. He only hoped that he wasn’t wrong about her, as he had been before.

Even after all he had been through – after all the conclusions he had come to and the vow he had made to never trust another mage – he began to think that she was the only person in the entire city with their priorities in order.


	2. Chapter 2

_Kirkwall, the Free Marches; 9:37 Dragon_

Cullen felt the explosion before he saw it.

He was on a patrol in Hightown when a sudden deep rumble vibrated through the ground, causing many walking citizens to stumble mid-step. Glancing around, he wondered what could cause such an abrupt tremor – surely not an earthquake?

And then came a flash of red that illuminated the whole district in a malevolent glow, and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Whirling around, he looked all about him, frantically searching for the source. At last, he found it, and he felt his jaw drop.

“ _Maker_ …”

His voice was a whisper of utter disbelief as his gaze lifted upwards, and he saw the Kirkwall Chantry being ripped apart by an unknown energy, the whole building steadily dismantled and then blown forcefully apart with rays of blinding scarlet power – magic of a kind he had never seen before, not even in Ferelden. His lyrium-laced blood boiled in his veins as a maelstrom swirled violently above, throwing chunks of debris as large as some of Hightown’s manors upon the city, which crushed anything they hit…

Instinctively shrugging his shield onto his arm, he ducked beneath it just as a fist-sized, jagged chunk of granite sailed straight for his head. The shock of the impact nearly broke his arm, and he staggered backwards before recovering his balance. It was then that a section of the bell tower tumbled dangerously overhead, raining deadly shards of broken glass in an arc above and crashing into an estate, reducing it to nothing but rubble in mere seconds. Screams of fear blended with screams of pain and tore through the air so frequently they became one solid sound, echoing around the stone walls in a never-ending wail.

Then came the surge. People rushed past him in a sea of bodies, stampeding through the streets and running for cover. Friends were torn apart from each other, children ripped from their parents’ hands. He was spurred into action when he glimpsed a young girl, no more than eight years old, standing still in the midst of the torrent and frantically looking for her mother, oblivious to the racing merchant’s cart that threatened to run her down. Dashing forth, he shoved fleeing citizens aside and scooped up the girl in his arms just in time, the wide-eyed merchant pushing the cart never seeming to see either him or the girl he had nearly struck.

The girl herself was dazed and unresponsive, but the mother of the child fought her way to him, having realized almost immediately that her daughter was lost in the crowd. Tears streamed down her face as she took the girl from him. “Maker bless you, Ser! Bless you!”

“Get to the Viscount’s Keep! You’ll be safe there!” he shouted over the din. It was the only place he knew of nearby that could withstand the falling debris and guard against whatever had caused the explosion to begin with…

Still the citizens fled, a seemingly endless stream. People were being knocked down and trampled, limbs broken. Those hit by debris were unconscious, some dead. Some carried the injured to safety, others just ignored them, preferring to save themselves. Roofs were catching fire, and the acrid smell of smoke mixed with blood and sweat and…

Whispers flooded his mind, flashes of Kinloch swimming before his eyes, his heart racing as he clenched the fist of his shield arm and reached for his sword with the other, limbs trembling with adrenaline. Gritting his teeth, he forced the visions back, locking his gaze on the way to Lowtown as something pulled him there like a magnet…

He did not have to go far before he caught sight of a Templar racing for him, bloody sword in hand.

“Knight-Captain! The Chantry… an apostate destroyed it! The Knight-Commander has invoked the Right of Annulment!”

He stopped in his tracks, eyes wide. “What?”

“She said the Circle is to be destroyed! The Champion is with her!”

For a moment, time seemed to stop as he slowly absorbed the information; the Champion was supporting Meredith in Annulling the Circle? An apostate was…?

He shook his head back and forth to clear it. There was no time to think about these things. Pressing forward, he gestured for the knight to follow. “With me, Templar! Where is the Commander?”

“Heading for the Gallows with the Champion… Orsino is ahead of her and is going to rally the mages in the Circle’s defense!”

They ran forth, armor clanking, heading deeper into Lowtown and making for the Docks. It was not long before they saw a group of recruits nursing their wounds against the outer wall of the Hanged Man. The Templar at his side elaborated, “These men were wounded when Orsino’s comrades turned on them… there’s abominations and demons about, Captain.”

“Stay with them and direct any of our fellows who aren’t wounded to the Gallows,” Cullen ordered.

“Yes, ser!”

At that, he made his way towards the Docks, surviving Templars joining him as he went. The abominations and demons the other Templar had mentioned were already slain by the Champion and Meredith, but he was certain that there would be more ahead, and he could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck again, chills running up and down his spine.

It was Kinloch Hold all over again.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time the ferry reached the dock at the Gallows, Meredith’s entourage and Hawke and her companions were already there. He caught up with his small cabal of Templars in tow just as Orsino finished speaking heatedly with Meredith, the First Enchanter whirling around angrily and heading into the Gallows proper. The Knight-Commander caught sight of him and smiled grimly, moving towards him and greeting him with a somber tone, “Captain… it is good to see you still live.”

“And you, Commander,” he replied, noting that she seemed unharmed. “I gathered those I could to meet you here.”

“That is wise,” she answered, pulling him aside as she glanced over her shoulder to see Hawke speaking with her comrades. Meredith walked with him to the opposite side of the courtyard and lowered her voice as she explained, “We are about to mount our attack on the Circle. As soon as everyone is ready, we will end this once and for all. After,” she looked back to Hawke and then at him again, “I want you to arrest the Champion. I cannot trust that she has not been involved in this disaster – the murder of Elthina and countless innocents. She harbored the culprit amongst her companions, and we cannot trust that she has not played a key role, regardless of her unusual choices this day.”

Cullen met Meredith’s cobalt-blue eyes and found only coldness there, boring into his soul and leaving an icy mark. A strange sensation fell over him, alarms ringing in his mind, and he fought the distinct urge to shudder involuntarily.

Something was wrong.

However, he did not reply with anything but a nod of understanding, and she smiled at him again. “Prepare yourself, Cullen,” she added. “This will be far too much like what you have experienced before. Take care that you do not lose your wits.”

His face was expressionless. “I shall not.”

With that, Meredith turned on her heel and marched towards Hawke, who had just finished speaking with her companions – including those whom he knew to be the Tevinter elf, Fenris, City Guard Captain Aveline Hendyr, Prince of Starkhaven Sebastian Vael, the dwarven author Varric Tethras, and Hawke’s own brother, Carver. They were a formidable lot, and would no doubt be invaluable in the fight ahead…

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

The initial assault was bloody, and resulted in the deaths of many mages and several Templars as Orsino retreated farther into the Gallows. Hawke, with her titian hair flying and silvery eyes blazing, fought with no less vigor than the warriors around her, struggling to keep as many of her allies around her alive as possible. He feared his men turning on her in the heat of battle, but to his great relief, they did not, even allowing her to heal them when she could spare the time and energy.

Once they broke through the entrance to the Gallows proper and cleared the area of maleficarum and demons, a gaggle of mages suddenly ran forward and fell at their feet, groveling on their knees before Hawke and the Templars.

“Mercy! We beg you!” They implored, nearly prostrate on the ground. “We surrender… please, don’t kill us! Do what you will, but please let us live!”

“Kill them,” Meredith ordered flatly, ignoring their cries for clemency. “They cannot be spared. This Circle is beyond redemption.”

“Wait!” Cullen stepped forward, causing all eyes to latch onto him. Glancing between the Knight-Commander and Hawke, he met Meredith’s gaze fearlessly, even as it narrowed at him in return. Cullen’s brows furrowed at her. “Surely the Right does not require-”

“It requires my order and nothing more! You will do as I command!” Meredith snapped sharply, attempting to leave no room for questioning.

Cullen remained facing the Commander, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that the mages were nearly hysterical, begging Hawke to come to their defense, “Champion! Please…”

Ainsleigh, taking a deep breath as she first looked to the mages before her and then to Cullen, finally spoke. “I want to hear what the Knight-Captain has to say.”

He hesitated, unsure if Meredith would grant him the opportunity or if she would cut him off again. When she did naught but offer a cold glare in response, he continued, speaking mostly to Hawke, since Meredith was unwilling to listen: “Even at Kinloch Hold – in a situation much worse than what we face here – we managed to save some of the mages left alive in the tower. The Right of Annulment does not mean the total annihilation of every mage – only those who continue to pose a threat and are beyond salvation. The same rules apply here.”

Meredith sighed forcefully, her irritation obvious. “Your objection is noted, Captain, but we cannot afford to be sympathetic with Kirkwall’s Chantry destroyed and the Grand Cleric murdered! Blood magic is rampant in this city and I _will_ ensure that it is stamped out.”

“But we have not witnessed these mages utilize it, not even in self-defense,” Cullen protested firmly. “We could escort them away from here, put them under watch…”

Meredith raised a critical brow at him. “And if they escape while feigning innocence? Are you willing to take that responsibility on your shoulders, Captain?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I believe that is part of what being a Templar is about.”

Meredith scoffed, “And _I_ believe it is our duty to protect the people… we must be judges, jailors, and even executioners, if need be.”

At these words, Hawke seemed quite perturbed. She narrowed her own pale eyes at Meredith and cocked her head curiously, smoothing back a sweaty lock of rose-blond hair that had escaped from her ponytail. “I thought we were here to prevent the situation from escalating… not destroy anything and everything in our way. I may not be a Circle mage, but I know what the Right of Annulment entails, and it does not always merit total obliteration, as the Knight-Captain has said.”

It was then that Cullen caught Hawke’s gaze and offered her the smallest of approving smiles. Glancing between two of the Templars under his command, he ordered, “Listen to the Champion. Guide these mages to someplace safe and keep an eye on them, but do not harm them unless they attempt to harm you first. Is that understood?”

They nodded, their voices muffled in their helms, “Yes, ser.”

“Carver, secure the area and let us know when we can proceed from this position.”

Hawke’s brother saluted. “At once, Captain.”

Meredith cast Cullen a long look while his men did as he commanded, and he felt that strange sensation again… that feeling of electricity dancing across his skin and snakes crawling up his back. He schooled his expression and did not allow her the pleasure of thinking he was intimidated by her. And, in truth, he was not. Meredith was going too far with the Right – he knew it and Hawke knew it – and he would do everything in his power to prevent her from overstepping her bounds. It was a little-known part of his privileges as Knight-Captain to be able to keep his Commander in check, especially when he thought her decisions were being made from emotion and not reason. He had never thought such an action necessary before, but now...

…now, as she stared back at him with an almost wild look in her eyes, he was starting to think Thrask had been right about her all along.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Orsino was dead. It was over.

He claimed to have never used blood magic before in his life, but he had slain his most loyal comrades to perform a rite so heinous it was almost indescribable. He became a golem of dead flesh – a Harvester – hideous and terrible to behold, knowing he was to die, but wishing to take as many Templars with him as possible.

The battle was long and kept them all on their toes, but thanks to their careful strategies and Hawke’s aid, the only death in that fight was Orsino’s.

Cullen had thought Ainsleigh might have hesitated in killing the First Enchanter, but after she discovered that Orsino had known about Quentin – the deranged mage who had slain her mother in an attempt to cobble together his lost love – and had covered up his actions to avoid Meredith’s attention, there was no sympathy left in the apostate. That and, after Orsino transformed, the choice was ultimately taken from her. She showed no remorse, no regret, and Cullen felt as though something in the Champion had changed. Perhaps forever. Gone was her usual humorous demeanor, which always seemed to be present, even before battle.

Or, perhaps, this was the true Ainsleigh, and the biting wit and dry humor were merely part of a mask she had lost the will to wear.

She was quiet as they emerged back into the Gallows courtyard, only a handful of mages now remaining. Cullen was grim as he realized that the only reason there were any survivors at all was because of Hawke and him. Meredith would have gladly razed the entire Gallows to the ground if it were possible. This fact disturbed him greatly. He had always known his Commander to be a strict, even harsh one. But this was beyond anything he had witnessed from her before – she seemed almost gleeful with the deaths around her, and that made him suspicious of her sanity…

Most of the Templars who had remained in the courtyard were tending their wounds or gathering the dead. He had almost forgotten that Meredith wanted Hawke arrested when she slowly turned around to speak with the Champion herself. The other Templars who accompanied them rushed forward to greet comrades or help with treatment, but Cullen remained nearby and within earshot. Curious as to whether or not the Knight-Commander would want to go through with her earlier decision, he listened carefully to Meredith’s words and watched for any signals.

But then he wondered… would he really go through with her order? He saw Carver out of the corner of his eye; the young Templar remained near his sister, the closest they had been in years, in both body and spirit. Carver seemed concerned when Meredith began addressing Ainsleigh, as if wondering what more the Commander would demand from the Champion this night.

“…even this battle is not yet over.”

He had mostly tuned out Meredith’s well-rehearsed justifications for her actions, but this phrase set his nerves on edge. There was something about the _way_ she said it…

Hawke and her companions must have sensed it, too. Expressions of suspicion and even worry flashed across their faces. Carver in particular looked grave, his brow furrowing at the Commander.

“I am beginning to wonder how much you had to do with all of this, Champion,” Meredith continued. “After all, the apostate who destroyed the Chantry to begin with was one of your companions… one whom you harbored and protected for years… an abomination you knew about, and yet did _nothing_ to stop…”

Those Templars who weren’t too injured to move slowly ambled nearer, taking note of Meredith’s words. Cullen knew most were merely curious, but the remainder could be spoiling for a fight. He cast them all a sharp warning look, and they stopped in their tracks.

Hawke’s face was like stone as she listened to Meredith go on, “And what about you? You are an accomplished mage. That we have seen with our own eyes. You are also an apostate, just like Anders. How do we know that you won’t become just as much a danger to Kirkwall as he? Especially when you took such great pains to hide him from us?”

Ainsleigh’s lips thinned, and her abrupt gestures betrayed her ire. “I didn’t take ‘great pains’ to hide anyone. If you didn’t find him, it was because your Templars weren’t looking hard enough. I also knew nothing of his plans for the Chantry. You are seeing threats where there are none.”

Meredith chuckled, shaking her head as if disappointed. “Everything about you is so predictable, Champion. Even your lies.” She backed up a step. “I know you are beloved amongst the people of Kirkwall, however, and I will make sure that you are remembered fondly. I will tell them that you died in battle against Orsino… for a righteous cause…”

There was a ripple amongst the Templars – a shudder of steel that betrayed the surprise hidden behind darkened helms. Cullen himself was alarmed by Meredith’s suggestion, and he felt that he could no longer stay silent.

“Knight-Commander.” He stepped closer, his voice firm. “I thought we were to _arrest_ the Champion, not kill her.”

“You _will_ do as I command, Cullen,” Meredith hissed, her eyes narrowing at him again. “Stop making excuses and-”

“No!” An unbridled rage boiled inside him now, and he pointed at her angrily. “I defended you when Thrask started whispering that you were mad, but this is too far!”

With blinding speed, Meredith unexpectedly unsheathed her sword and leveled it at him, the point only inches away from his heart. “ _I will_ not _tolerate insubordination! We_ must _stay true to our path!”_

The blade flared scarlet, and Cullen’s eyes widened in surprise as he held his hands aloft. He knew what Meredith’s sword looked like, and _this_ was not it. Even in the battle with Orsino, it had not looked like this. Now, however, it glowed an eerie red, reflecting off of the Knight-Commander’s armor with a menacing light that matched the cold ferocity of her gaze.

“Andraste’s dimpled buttcheeks!” Varric swore.

“Pure lyrium,” Meredith’s voice was tinged with awe and menace as she stroked the edge of the blade reverently. “The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize…”

“It took Bartrand’s mind, in the end,” Hawke murmured, her tone almost fearful. And suddenly, Cullen _understood_.

“He was weak,” Meredith hissed. “Whereas _I_ am not!” Then, she suddenly pointed the humming sword at Hawke, commanding to the Templars around her, “All of you! _I want her dead!_ ”

“ _Enough!”_ Cullen roared, beyond tired of this madness. “This is _not_ what the Order stands for! Knight-Commander, step _down_! I relieve you of your command!”

Meredith’s eyes suddenly went wide, and she whispered in disbelief, “My own Knight-Captain… lost to the influence of blood magic…”

Whirling around, she waved her sword wildly, accosting her Templars. “You _all_ are! You’re all weak! Allowing the mages to control your minds! To turn you against me! But I don’t need any of you…” she stepped towards Hawke, snarling. “I will finish this myself!”

“Then you’ll have to go through me!”

At that, Carver forcefully wedged himself between Meredith and his sister, greatsword at the ready and rage in his eyes.

Cullen, too, drew his own blade and stood side-by-side with Carver, their backs together and their weapons forward to form a shield for the Champion. “And me!”

“ _Traitors!_ ” Meredith cried, enraged. “I’ll have _both_ your heads!”

The other Templars, confused as to whose side to take and unwilling to get in the way of Meredith’s awful weapon, began backing away fearfully, taking refuge in the side alcoves. Some of them retreated back into the Gallows proper with the more heavily injured. Hawke’s companions immediately spread out to get a better advantage, knowing a fight was imminent; the Champion herself readied her staff, and Cullen could feel her gathering her magic. He could only wonder how much more they could take. They were already exhausted from the fight with first the resistant mages and then Orsino’s blood magic. Meredith herself, however, seemed tireless, and her apparent madness only made her all the stronger…

“ _Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and_ do _…_ not _…_ falter _!”_

Meredith recited the well-known line from the Canticle of Benedictions as the eerie red glow of her lyrium blade spread outwards from the edges like a beacon. Then, suddenly, before Cullen could even fall into a proper defensive stance, she pounced, her blade whistling through the air straight at his face.

At first, he was not even aware he’d been hit, it happened so quickly. He had just managed to reflexively jerk backwards in time to avoid the full brunt of Meredith’s strike. But then the throbbing, burning, stinging sensation alerted him to the fact he’d been struck straight in the mouth, vertically sliced from his upper lip to his cheek by the very tip of the blade. It bled profusely, blood trickling down his face and dripping from his chin. This he ignored, however, quickly shrugging his shield onto his arm while Carver intercepted a follow-up blow from Meredith with his own greatsword. The strength of the Commander’s blow staggered the younger Hawke sibling, and Cullen realized that she would truly have no qualms about killing both him and Carver to get at the Champion.

He ducked and dodged a sideways arc, then lunged for Meredith’s vulnerable flank, but she followed up so quickly that he was forced to dive and roll while Carver parried her strike again, crying out upon impact from the force. Cullen then swiped at her leg, but this she dodged as well, moving with unnatural speed. His mind spun with possible strategies as he frantically searched for a weakness; she was good, but he had no idea she was _this_ good.

It was then that Fenris and Aveline took the heat from the Templars, allowing them to retreat with Hawke to a more defensible position. In the interim, the Champion rained a storm of frost upon Meredith to try and freeze her in place; Hawke now utilized only offensive spells, knowing that the quicker she brought Meredith down, the less healing she would have to do later. And yet, despite the intensity of the ice storm that Hawke brought upon the Knight-Commander’s head, causing hoarfrost to spread across her body, it did not slow her down one bit. She was immune to the effects of the magic entirely.

Cullen and Carver both watched as Fenris and Aveline worked in tandem as they had for years together, and yet both seasoned warriors were taken aback by Meredith’s empowerment. Each second seemed to pass like hours as a dozen strikes were exchanged so quickly that it was one solid sound ringing across the stone courtyard. Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw Sebastian and Varric clambering for a position to rain deadly arrows in the Commander’s direction, and yet there was the dilemma that they might hit either Fenris or Aveline in the process.

Hawke, too, was struggling to find an opening. Fenris and Aveline knew this, and they attempted to work around Meredith in opposite directions, forcing her to turn her back to Hawke and the archers. The elf’s strength was failing quickly, as he was not able to keep up with the sheer speed of Meredith’s blows. Meanwhile, Aveline’s shield was close to breaking, a definitive crack spreading along its surface. With each blocked strike, the guard captain’s arm went slacker and slacker until it hung limply at her side and the shield slipped from it. Aveline staggered backwards, raising her sword to parry an incoming overhand strike from Meredith…

…and that was when Donnic charged in. Cullen had not even noticed the guardsman join the ranks of the Templars who had come to the Gallows. His angry bellow echoed across the courtyard as he stopped Meredith’s blow with unprecedented strength.

“You’ll not have my wife, you crazy bitch!”

While she was occupied, Fenris’s blade, too, came screaming at Meredith from behind, tearing all the armor from her right arm with the force of the stroke. Taking it as a cue to back out, Aveline scrambled to the sidelines to recover, taking shelter behind a column. Just as Meredith spun around to retaliate at Fenris, Sebastian and Varric let loose a volley, two arrows and three bolts suddenly peppering the vulnerable spot in her lower back between her cuirass and skirt. As she stumbled, Cullen heard Hawke snarl from behind him, and she unleashing three quick bolts of pure frost magic that blasted into Meredith and propelled her onto her hands and knees.

“Maker!” Meredith gasped, her eyes glowing red and veins of scarlet spreading across her armor from the blade, “Your humble servant begs you for the strength to defeat this evil!”

Cullen had not anticipated what happened next. Defying her body’s obvious exhaustion, Meredith propelled herself to her feet and then into the air, leaping at least twenty feet backwards and landing on the balcony above them. With a cry, she plunged her sword between the gaps in the stones, red light flaring outwards and slamming into first the two Templars and the Champion, and then Sebastian and Varric nearby. They were all thrown from the steps and into the courtyard in a clattering heap, sliding as they hit. Now _they_ were the ones scrambling to their feet as Donnic helped a weakened Fenris out of the fight, dragging the elf over to Aveline’s side.

Cullen, Carver, Ainsleigh, Sebastian, and Varric all stood back-to-back, frantically glancing around as the magic from Meredith’s sword bounced all around them, illuminating their armor and weapons in a wicked ruby glow. It reached one of the multi-armed, two-faced Tevinter statues flanking the Gallows entrance and, to their horror, made the bronze effigy come to life in a roar of red.

“Maker, preserve us!” Sebastian prayed, blue eyes wide with disbelief.

“Distract it until I can bring it down!” Hawke shouted, flames swirling around her staff and forearms.

“Easier said than done, Chuckles!” Varric retorted, although he leveled Bianca at the statue regardless.

Meredith seemed to be empowering the statue, animating it with her willpower and the strength of the lyrium in her blade, but she was unreachable – a force field of red surrounded her, forcing them to focus their attention on the figure while she rested. Her sword, whatever kind of lyrium it was, gave her a terrible advantage over them all, granting her strength and stamina no human possessed. As they charged at the animated statue, dodging flailing giant limbs armed with two swords and a hammer, Cullen began to fear that this fight might be one they could not win…

Of a sudden, a gigantic firestorm erupted around the bronze statue, blasting one of the arms from the effigy and melting the head of the hammer to its body. Meanwhile, Carver seemed to be throwing himself into a leg in an attempt to overbalance it and topple it over. Thinking this idea might work, Cullen dashed forth and did the same, ducking under a whistling sword blade as he did so and slamming into the statue with all his strength. Sebastian and Varric, too, abandoned their useless distraction and ran forward, shoving into the statue until, at last, it fell.

“Get away from it!” Hawke cried as soon as it was down.

As they scrambled away, she unleashed another explosion of fiery magic, disabling the statue by blowing it apart. Yet, as soon as this threat was ended, more appeared; Meredith empowered the second statue, and Cullen’s eyes widened in horror as the scarlet power advanced down the columns, animating the bronze sculptures of the Tevinter slaves.

“Damn her!” Carver cursed. “Will this not end?”

Hawke downed a lyrium draught and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, pale eyes alight with fury as she tossed the bottle upon the ground where it shattered in a shower of fragile glass. Cullen had never seen her this angry before, and it was almost disconcerting to witness. Yet never for a moment did she lose control, despite the rage that contorted her face. Together, they brought down the statues in a similar manner to the first. Having rested for a bit and downed healing potions while behind the cover of the columns, Aveline, Fenris, and Donnic were back into the fray, plus two more faces that Cullen did not recognize – an elven rogue and a Grey Warden archer. It seemed that more allies were emboldened enough to join the fight, realizing that if they did not assist, then Meredith might truly win the day… and Maker only knew what would happen after that.

When the final statue fell, the Commander herself returned to the battle, and Cullen could not believe she still stood. Yet, now, her entire body glowed with the red light, her eyes solid scarlet in their sockets and pulsing with power. Desperate for the battle to end, they all converged on her at once. Yet, even so, she was quick enough and strong enough to parry at least half the blows that rained upon her. Cullen dodged and weaved to avoid that terrible blade, making strikes where he could in the most vulnerable areas he could reach. His blade pierced flesh again and again, and yet the blood drawn only seemed to fuel her. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes even as he tried to blink it away and burning as it trickled into the cut on his lip…

At last, Hawke’s magic seemed to be taking effect. The light in Meredith’s sword began to dim, and the exhausted comrades retreated one-by-one as they saw the Champion gaining control over the fight. The Knight-Commander staggered backwards with each successive fireball from Ainsleigh’s staff.

“I… will not… be defeated!” Meredith raved, gasping for breath even as she raised her blade high. “Maker! Aid your humble-”

She never finished her sentence. Of a sudden, the lyrium blade flared bright white and shattered, sending shards flying across the courtyard, whistling dangerously past everyone’s heads as they reflexively ducked. Meredith screamed, an unearthly howl escaping her lips as her body was suddenly seized by red power, crackling around her and bringing her to her knees. On and on she screamed in horror as the scarlet magic took her, consuming her in roaring red until her whole form glowed solid with it and her limbs began to crumble. On her knees, face turned towards the sky and mouth gaping in fear and pain, she was rooted to the spot as she was transformed into stone right before their very eyes.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Cullen’s breath came out in ragged pants. Fatigue slowly taking over his adrenaline-fueled body, he dropped his blade to the cobbles with a loud clatter, his limbs throbbing and weak. Sebastian caught Hawke in his arms and eased her to the ground as she finally collapsed with exhaustion. As the companions gathered around the Champion, sharing what potions remained between them, Aveline proffered one in his direction, but he shook his head. “No,” his voice trembled with weariness. He thought of so many who were dead and dying from the Chantry destruction, and he added, “Save it… for someone who needs it… more than I.”

At that moment, he noticed the surviving Templars coming out of hiding. They gathered in a thick circle around them all, looking expectantly at him. One rushed over to inspect Meredith and, finding that the Commander was nothing but solid crystal, glanced in his direction and slowly shook her helmed head.

Then, he realized – with Meredith dead, he was now the de-facto Knight-Commander. They were looking to him for guidance on what to do next. Awaiting their orders.

As if fearing what might come next, Ainsleigh forced herself to her feet with Sebastian and Fenris’s aid, meeting Cullen’s gaze with her own pale one. She did not smile, nor did she seem angry, but rather looked at him with expectation, wondering what he would do now.

As he looked back at her, he knew that the city needed a leader. Meredith was no longer steward, and he refused to inherit her role – one that the Templars never should have possessed to begin with. No, Kirkwall needed someone outside the Order who cared about the city, and who put the lives of the citizens before themselves. Officially, that person could not take the throne without the support of the Templars, but that was something he _was_ willing to offer.

He knelt, head bowed, hoping that the others would understand and follow his lead.

Carver knelt next. Then, one by one, the rest followed, until the whole courtyard of Templars was kneeling before Hawke.

“Champion, the Templar Order is with you.”

 _Perhaps we can at last have peace_ , he thought, as murmurs rippled through the throng around him and the Champion herself looked absolutely baffled.

He was wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

_Kirkwall Viscount’s Keep, the Free Marches; 9:40 Dragon_

“Viscountess, do you have a moment?”

Cullen rapped his knuckles softly on the wooden doorframe as he peered into the spacious office that once belonged to Viscount Marlowe Dumar. Now, Ainsleigh Hawke was sitting at the same desk Dumar had once used, staring at a bit of parchment with a half-bored look on her face. Though she took her position as leader of the city of Kirkwall seriously, she detested the paperwork that was involved. Her door was open, as it usually was; she was never a stickler for formality, and she even encouraged people to talk with her whenever they so wished, if for no other reason than to distract her from whatever letter or pamphlet or petition that she had no desire to read. Any unfinished work at the end of the day was foisted onto Seneschal Bran to handle.

And that was, more often than not, almost all of it.

When she heard Cullen’s voice, she looked up and met his honey-colored eyes with her pale ones. They were a soft ice blue, so light in color they were almost silver, and they glittered from the firelight as she leaned back in her chair. Her slightly downturned, oval lips tugged into a broad smile – unpainted, he noted. One thing that he learned fairly quickly was that Hawke’s overall appearance was eclectic to say the least, ranging from subdued to dramatic and changing on a daily basis. Today, she seemed to have chosen subdued, wearing only subtle eye makeup and a simply-made champagne silk dress that pooled about her matching slippered feet.

“I always have a moment for our esteemed Knight-Commander,” she replied cheerfully, gesturing to the chair opposite her. “Do have a seat, my good ser.”

He dipped his head graciously in response. “Thank you, my lady.”

As he moved to do as she bade, he marveled at how few times he had visited her office in the past three years, despite the fact that they both held quarters in the same building, now. Since the defeat of Meredith, the Gallows had been condemned, and as the years went on, it was evident that such a decision was a good thing: the power of the red lyrium in Meredith’s sword had tainted the very stone of the place, and it had not taken long for the substance to begin sprouting straight out of the cobbles. With the Templars’ stronghold effectively destroyed, accommodations were eventually made for him in the Viscount’s Keep, and what Templars survived the conflict now shared the barracks with Aveline Hendyr’s guards.

“What brings you here, today?” Hawke asked at length, cocking her head at him as he sat and causing her high ponytail to fall upon her shoulder in thick cascade, which blended with the silk of her dress. The dark iron-grey circlet that marked her as Viscountess was stark against her rose blonde hair, and it seemed far too heavy for her, in more ways than one. He felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered that such a burden was partially his fault.

“I…” he began tentatively, shifting his weight and causing his armor to rattle lightly as he wondered how to begin. “I actually came here to offer you a warning, my lady.”

Her brow furrowed, and she leaned forward, her usually gentle countenance at once turning serious. “A warning? What about? Is there some sort of danger?”

He glanced to the crackling hearth, and then down at his bare hands in his lap, remembering that he had left his gauntlets in his office on his desk. “It’s about the Templars, actually.”

She heaved a heavy sigh, leaning back again as her eyes wandered to the walls. A chuckle escaped her lips, and she shook her head. “It’s always the Templars, it seems.”

He snorted. “Yes, well. You’re not the only one who harbors that sentiment.” He grinned from the mirth her remark brought, but it faded quickly. “In all seriousness, however, I must tell you – I fear I will not be able to control them much longer.”

Her head cocked again as her eyes latched back onto his. “What do you mean?”

His lips thinned. “I gave my men strict orders not to return to the Gallows under any circumstances. The red lyrium that has taken root there is far too dangerous and unpredictable, and I do not wish to risk the same madness that overtook Meredith tainting anyone else. Yet Aveline has passed an increasing number of reports to me that she has seen a good number of them going to and coming from the Gallows at night, and I fear the worst.”

Hawke frowned. “You think they’re being influenced by it?”

Cullen lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, his gaze never once leaving hers as he explained, “I know that many of them have a dark fascination with it, bordering obsession. There are some who are envious of the level of power that Meredith displayed at the Gallows, and there is no doubt that they wish to possess that sort of power for themselves. They are paranoid of a disaster like what happened with the Chantry occurring again, and they will do whatever it takes to prevent it from happening.” He sighed once more, shaking his head. “What’s worse is that they are beginning to project their fears onto you. They doubt my judgment as Commander in supporting an apostate for the throne, and I can feel the rumblings of dissent beginning to grow louder. I will attempt to rein them in as much as I can, but,” he took a breath, “there is only so far my influence goes, I’m afraid. Especially now that the Circles are stirring themselves into a frenzy.”

She glanced away, silent for a few long moments as she absorbed his words. He studied her face as she thought, as if he might be able to read her reaction upon it before she voiced it. Her countenance was oval, like that of many a statue of Andraste he’d seen, with a slightly long nose – somewhat pointed, too. Her eyes were downturned, but only marginally so, and he noticed the subtle lines at their corners, coming naturally with her advancement into her mid-thirties but enhanced by years of physical and emotional stress. There were quite a few who considered her attractive and even proposed marriage after her ascension to the throne, despite her magehood. Yet, she remained aloof, giving her heart only to the Prince of Starkhaven.

At last, she replied without looking back at him, “Do we need to call in allies? Petition one of the other Templar strongholds to take in these survivors and get them away from Kirkwall? Starkhaven, perhaps? I could write a letter to Sebastian.”

He thought about her offer for a moment, and then shook his head. “That may cause more harm than good, as they could have a negative influence on more stable situations elsewhere.” He paused, gazing into the fireplace once more before adding, “I hesitate to suggest this, but you may have to flee the city to be truly safe. It cannot be denied that the Order here in Kirkwall is crumbling, and trying to keep it together is like attempting to hold water in one’s hands – it is only a matter of time until it all slips away.”

Suddenly, there was a slight _tap_ of her nails against metal as she leaned forward and put a hand on his forearm reassuringly, “It’s not your fault.”

This was the healer Hawke… the Hawke who tried to mend every bad situation with spell or counsel. It coexisted alongside the witty Hawke and the pensive Hawke, and it came out anytime she sensed someone feeling broken, physically or emotionally. Guilt or pain was impossible to hide from her, as if plainly etched on the faces of the suffering, and once discovered, nothing would stop her from trying to ease it.

This despite the fact that she suffered greatly herself, and he knew it.

He met her gentle gaze and inclined his head politely in thanks, then slowly rose to his feet. “Neither is it yours, my lady,” he replied, before heading towards the door. Halfway there, he turned back and added, with all sincerity in his tone, “Please, heed my words and take great care. You are a target, make no mistake. Aveline and I will do what we can to maintain control, but it may not be enough.”

What she would choose to do with advice, he did not know. Whether or not she stayed in Kirkwall or left was, ultimately, her decision, but he hated to see something happen to her if she remained. He had begun to see her as a friend and trusted ally, and he had not felt so close to a mage since… well, since the Amell girl. Her cousin. His stomach twisted at the memory, and he shoved it behind the wall that held back so many other recollections he could not bear to think about.

A wall that was slowly crumbling.

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A few months later, when the leaves turned from shades of green to fiery hues of gold and red, she was gone.

When Lord Seeker Lambert declared the Nevarran Accord null and void, the Templar Order was effectively severed from the Chantry, and more than half of the Templars under Cullen’s command promptly abandoned Kirkwall, as did the Viscountess herself. She vanished without a trace, leaving no indication of where she had fled to, and the citizens of Kirkwall were left wondering where their beloved Hawke had flown. Not long after she disappeared, rumors swirled that a Seeker of Truth was searching for her, and Cullen wondered if that selfsame Seeker would come knocking on his door, sooner or later.

Never in his life had Cullen felt quite so purposeless. He was Commander of less than a dozen souls, who were part of an Order that had been transformed before their very eyes, torn from the Chantry they swore to serve, and repurposed to fight the rebel mages that had risen up after the rebellion at the White Spire in Val Royeaux earlier that year. He and those few Templars remaining in Kirkwall wanted none of that impetuous and highly-political chaos, but such a move (or lack thereof) left them almost completely without allies and most assuredly without any upper chain of command to turn to for guidance.

Now, as the leaves turned brown and fell and winter’s chill began to creep across the land, his only hope was to keep trying to maintain order alongside Guard Captain Aveline, while Provisional Viscount Bran managed the city in Hawke’s absence. Day by day it was the same, keeping his nose to the grindstone and blocking out anything other than performing his duty to the people. It was all he _could_ do.

That was, until a knock _did_ come upon his door.

“Come in,” he replied, not looking up from his parchment as he hastily scrawled out more orders for Knight-Captain Rylen, an officer from Starkhaven who had been assisting the relief effort ever since the Chantry disaster.

The door swung open with a creak and groan, and the sound of clanking metal and the movement of a dark shape out of the corner of his eye caused him to glance upwards…

The emblem on the blackened breastplate of the woman who approached him caused him to spring to his feet.

“Seeker-” he began, but was cut off.

“- Cassandra Pentaghast,” she finished for him, eliminating the need for introduction then and there, “Right Hand of Divine Justinia V. And you are Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford. I have heard much about you.”

Her small smile was one of slight amusement, and it somewhat softened her stern countenance, albeit only momentarily. She was bold featured and tan-skinned, with sharp, dark brown eyes and short-cropped black hair. Her jaw was strong, and her shoulders broad. Backlit as she was from the light of the doorway, she appeared nothing short of intimidating, in every sense of the word.

His brows rose in both surprise and concern, and he queried tentatively, “You… have?”

His tone betrayed the fact her words made him ill at ease. Her hearing of him could be deemed as much a bad thing as good; the Seekers of Truth were responsible for maintaining order within Templar ranks, and they were called upon at times to discipline wayward knights. The Seekers were no longer part of the Chantry, ordered to aid the Templars under the command of Lord Seeker Lucius in fighting the rebel mages… perhaps she was here because he had not joined them?

No. She had introduced herself as a Hand of Justinia, which meant she was still aligned with the Chantry. Perhaps she was the one looking for Hawke, and she had come to him for answers…

The Seeker crossed her arms, slowly moving forward into the candlelight from his desk. “Your efforts to keep order in this city have not gone unnoticed, Commander. I have taken note of your role in maintaining peace and protecting the citizenry in the aftermath of the Chantry’s destruction. In a time when mages and Templars both seem to have lost their senses, you have held fast to the rules of the Order and upheld its tenets, even when pressed by outside influences.”

He pulled his hands behind his back and glanced away, slightly uncomfortable despite her praise, and wondering where she was going with this conversation. “I have only done what is right. What any Templar _should_ do.”

She smiled again, and he could not help but feel his discomfort increase. “And that is precisely the reason why I wish to extend an offer to you, on behalf of the Divine,” she replied.

His brow furrowed, his curiosity piqued. “And what offer is that?”

The Seeker sighed forcefully. “The Nevarran Accord is broken, and mages and Templars now make war across Thedas. Thousands of innocent lives have been caught in the crossfire, and if it is not stopped soon, we could see destruction far worse than that of the Chantry here in Kirkwall. The Divine has devised a plan to put a stop to it, and she has sent me to recruit the best souls to put that plan into motion, if need be.” She withdrew a thick, leather-bound book from her belt, emblazoned with the Chantry sunburst, and held it aloft for him to see. “She will call a Conclave in less than a year’s time to broker peace between the leaders of the rebel mages and the Templars. If that is not possible, then _this_ will be enacted.”

She paused, meeting his gaze with a dark, glittering stare. “The Inquisition will be resurrected.”

His eyes widened, and his brows rose. The Inquisition was the origination point of both the Templar Order and the Seekers of Truth. Historically, it had been a method of spreading Andrastian influence across Thedas, in addition to combating dark magic of all sorts. The rebirth of such a world-changing organization seemed worse than an Exalted March. Cullen was certain that it was even more of a last-resort measure, which spoke volumes about the desperateness of the situation.

“And where do I come in?” He finally asked, unsure of his role in the Divine’s plan and why the Seeker would be telling him this – something that would be considered highly confidential, unless…

Cassandra looked at the book before returning it to her belt. “I offer you this: if the Inquisition is established, then you will be the official Commander of our military forces.”

“Me? Surely there are better-”

“I would have no other. You have proven yourself to be a capable leader of men, and you would be responsible for recruiting, training, and dispatching soldiers for the cause. Your role would not be much different than what you have been doing here,” she added, “simply on a larger scale.”

He glanced away again and swallowed hard, leaning forward onto his desk as he absorbed her words. For the second time in his life, he felt as though he were standing on the edge of a cliff, about to plummet over the side. One slip, one wrong move, one bad decision, and he would go down a path from which he could never return.

After a moment, he asked without looking up, “And Most Holy truly thinks that such a measure will be necessary?”

“I cannot say what the Divine thinks. _I_ , however, think that it is not a matter of if, but when.”

Her blunt honesty did little to reassure him, but he appreciated her frankness. There was a long silence. He knew there was nothing left for him here in Kirkwall. Perhaps the Maker was giving him a way out… another chance. Perhaps this was his opportunity to change his life, and the lives of many others, for the better, beyond anything the Order could enable him to do. Perhaps this was his chance to truly atone.

She approached the desk, offering him her hand. “Help us stop this chaos, before it is too late.”

In the direct candlelight, she looked a little less intimidating, her features softened by the warm glow of the flame. As she looked at him expectantly, her hand proffered to him in an open gesture, she seemed earnest in her desire for his help.

At last, with a resounding _clack_ of armored hands, he agreed.

“Very well, Seeker Pentaghast. I am with you.”

She smiled, broadly this time, and shook his hand firmly. “Thank you, Commander. We leave for Val Royeaux on the morrow, and we will have many more leagues to travel after we get there. Pack your belongings and be sure to wear warm clothing. Where we are ultimately headed, you will need it.”

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Cullen pressed his Templar signet ring into the soft wax pooled on the envelope, then set it aside. It was the longest letter he had written to Mia in years. Yet, he felt he had to put his thoughts to parchment. Besides, his sister had a right to know what he was doing, especially the sister who had worked so hard to get him into the Order he was now leaving behind. He spared the most confidential details, but otherwise told her of his intentions to leave the Templars for good.

Procuring a fresh piece of parchment, he discarded the orders he had previously penned for Rylen and began a new message to him with a different goal in mind. Seeker Pentaghast had given him permission to begin recruiting soldiers for the Divine’s cause, and, if agreed to, his first appointment would be a second-in-command.

Knight-Captain Rylen was a good man with a quick mind, driven by a desire to help those in need. He had stayed far longer than necessary to tend to the people of Kirkwall in the aftermath of the Chantry disaster, and when Lambert severed the Templars from the Chantry, Rylen and his men ignored the orders of the Lord Seeker and Knight-Commander Karsten and returned to Cullen’s command. He was not the first Templar Cullen had met who shared many of his sentiments on the Order, but he was the most experienced and the highest-ranked. He was also one of less than a handful of people whom Cullen truly trusted, and so he was naturally the Commander’s first choice as deputy.

Hunched over his desk, his determined countenance illuminated by the short candle’s flickering flame, he wrote with purpose, his words flowing from his mind to the parchment with an ease that he had not experienced in years. His pen moved quickly and surely across the page, the quill scratching softly all the while, and he only hoped that Rylen would see this opportunity as he did…

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

The hearth, blazing with fire the night before, was now cold. The bookshelves, once half-full with tomes and various odd trinkets, were now bare. The old oak desk, which once had been piled with papers and filled with documents, was now empty, and its polished surface reflected the light from the window. It was an odd and unfamiliar sight.

Cullen took one final look around his office. Everything he wanted to bring with him, he already had hauled to the docks in a single chest. He brought his weapons and his lyrium kit, but he abandoned his armor – along with his title. All that remained was to board the Seeker’s ship, and his life here in Kirkwall would be left behind…

…along with his life in the Order.

Part of him grieved, mourning the loss of his boyhood dream – a dream that had been shattered violently and, ultimately, transformed into a waking nightmare. And yet, at the same time, a part of him felt as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders, leaving him feeling lighter than he ever had before. As he descended the steps of the Viscount’s Keep and made his way through the streets of Hightown, he kept his gaze on the path ahead, each footstep deliberate. He had pondered enough. Now was the time to act.

Dodging faces he knew and keeping to the shadows, he hoped no one would recognize him in his plain breeches and studded leather jerkin; he did not care to make his departure obvious. Pulling his fur-lined cloak tighter around him against a blast of frigid winter air, he carefully avoided puddles that remained iced-over where the sun had yet to reach…

“Leaving us, are we, Knight-Commander?”

He stopped abruptly and turned, and the bold-featured, freckled countenance of Aveline Hendyr smiled at him from the top of the market plaza steps. He dipped his head almost bashfully, knowing he should have expected her to follow him.

“It’s time, Captain,” he replied simply, looking off in the direction of the Keep. “And it’s not ‘Knight-Commander,’ anymore,” he added quietly. “I’m leaving the Order. Forever.”

Aveline’s red brows rose, and for a moment she seemed dumbfounded, her jade-green eyes wide as they searched his. At last, however, she replied quietly, “That’s… unexpected. But I can’t say you’re not doing the right thing.” She sighed, putting her hands on her hips as she shook her head. “The Order isn’t what it used to be, I know that much. Or maybe it never was that way at all.”

“I’m starting to believe the latter,” he remarked dryly.

She was silent for a breath, as if unsure how to respond or buried in personal thoughts, then asked, “So… where are you off to now, then? Where does a man like you go after all this?”

He glanced away. “I… cannot say. Only that I will be serving the Chantry in a different capacity, now. I will be doing what I can to stop this madness between mages and Templars before Thedas is torn apart by it.”

“ _Well_ , then.” Aveline shook her head, running a gauntleted hand through her short-cropped copper hair. Cullen remembered when it had reached her shoulders, but she had finally tired of caring for it and had it cut not much longer than his own. “If that’s the case, I wish you luck. You’ll need it.”

After a moment, she held out her open hand to him. “Cullen, I’ve got to say it’s been an honor to work with you… and to fight at your side. May the Maker and Andraste both watch over you.”

Inclining his head, he grasped her forearm firmly. “And you, Captain Aveline.”

“We’ll hold things together as best we can,” she replied with a wry smile. Then, reaching up with her other hand and clapping him on the shoulder, she added quietly, “Don’t blame yourself for what happened here. Don’t dwell on what you should or could have done. And don’t feel sorry for leaving it all behind. It will eat you alive, and you know it.”

He met her eyes and was silent for a long moment before answering, “I will try not to. Thank you, Aveline, and farewell.”

With that, she let go of him and watched as he descended into Lowtown. He felt her eyes on his back as he went, and he could not help but feel guilty for leaving her this mess to deal with on her own. She was a strong woman, however, and she had Donnic to help her. If anyone could handle Kirkwall’s chaotic and disastrous nature, it was Aveline.

When he arrived at the docks at last, having successfully avoided encounters with any other acquaintances, he saw an unhelmed Rylen and a few Templars there with him. As he approached, the Knight-Captain hailed him and grinned broadly, addressing him in his heavy Starkhaven brogue, “I got your message, Commander.”

Cullen slowly halted, resting his hand casually on the sword at his waist and watching as Rylen approached, curious as to what his answer would be.

“And…?”

Rylen gestured to the handful of other Templars beside him. “We’ve decided to come with you, as you requested. You want a second-in-command? You’ve got him. And these are your first soldiers.”

Rylen’s words brought a smile to Cullen’s lips, and he shook the Templar’s hand firmly. “Thank you, Knight-Captain. It will be good to have you with us.”

“And it will be good to leave the Marches behind for a while,” Rylen replied. “Since the explosion, everyone’s gone barking mad. It’s time to get out of here.” Turning and pointing, he added, “Speaking of which, there’s our ship. Beauty, isn’t she?”

Cullen followed Rylen’s finger to the frigate slightly to the right. It was a noble-looking vessel, the golden figurehead that of a burning Andraste, hands clasped in prayer below the bowsprit. The mainmast was adorned with two flags, one bearing the emblem of the Chantry – the blazing sunburst on a red field – and the other sporting the symbol of the Seekers of Truth – a white eye encircled in flame. All across the deck scurried sailors and soldiers, ferrying supplies aboard and preparing the ship for departure.

“They are well-armed,” Cullen remarked, noting the impressive ballistae at the bow and stern.

“Have to be,” Rylen snorted. “Pirate attacks have been increasing all around the Waking Sea. That, plus mages and Templars stealing vessels and fighting each other… it’s damn near pulled trade to a grinding halt, from what I hear.”

“Curly!”

The sudden call caused Cullen to bristle in annoyance. Only one person in Kirkwall called him by that name, and he wished to the Maker he would stop…

Varric Tethras wandered across the docks towards him, a wry smile on the dwarf’s weathered countenance. Cullen noted a few small, relatively fresh cuts on his face and even bruising around his temples. “Somehow I’m not surprised to see you here. Did the Seeker take you prisoner, too?”

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “Seeker Pentaghast arrested you?”

Varric sighed. “Not precisely. But let’s just say I’m not coming along of my own volition. When I couldn’t tell her where the Champion went, she decided to drag me with her. I don’t know what more I can do, but whatever she wants, she’s not talking.”

“So she _was_ looking for Hawke,” Cullen mused aloud. “I thought I heard a Seeker was looking for her, but I did not know it was Seeker Pentaghast. She told me nothing of her findings or the lack thereof, only asking me to join her and the Divine’s cause.”

Snorting, Varric shook his head. “Yeah, well. She blamed Hawke for all this shit, if you can believe it. Thought it was all her fault, and that she was the one who incited and even encouraged the mage uprising here in Kirkwall… tricked the Templars or some such rot. When the Seeker found out the truth, though,” he glanced back at the ship, “she actually wanted to find her to help with... whatever it is exactly she wants help with. But I couldn’t tell her anything, so… here we are.” He frowned. “She changed her tune rather quickly, though, and now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure her whole spiel was just a ploy to get me to spill my guts in Hawke’s defense.”

Cullen suddenly wondered if the Seeker knew of his involvement in the Champion’s disappearance – if Varric had told her why Hawke had left, and whether or not it was at his advice. He knew that Ainsleigh and Varric were close friends, but he did not know if she had told anyone of their meeting or of his words of warning. She had said nothing to him and had not given him any farewell before she vanished, and Cullen had no inkling of where she might have gone. If Seeker Pentaghast decided to ask him about her whereabouts, then that would be all he could tell her.

At that moment, Cassandra herself appeared at their side, along with another woman who wore the same garb as the Seeker, and Cullen thought she looked oddly familiar. Memories suddenly came flooding back in a torrent that nearly knocked him down.

_…a pale oval face sporting a smattering of freckles, framed with a straight-cut copper bob adorned with a single braid… soft, mottled blue eyes with faint brown centers… a ready bow at Wynne’s side…_

She smiled at him gently, seeming to read his thoughts as she greeted him, “I am Sister Leliana. We have met before, no? Not properly, of course, but briefly. At the Circle of Ferelden, before the Warden-Commander became Queen.”

Her voice returned him to the present, and he had to force his heart to keep a steady beat as he nodded curtly. “Yes, so we have. It seems I owe you proper thanks, as I… was not able to give it to you then.”

She shook her head solemnly. “No, it is not necessary. What matters is that you are here, now, and have joined us in our fight to restore order. Cassandra speaks highly of you, and I am sure you will be a valuable asset to our cause.”

“If we are finished here, we should return to Val Royeaux,” Cassandra herself added, gesturing to the ship. “There is not much time to waste. We can talk more once we are on board.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Once the ship was moving, leaving the harbor of Kirkwall far behind, Cullen emerged on the top deck and wandered to the railing, watching as the dark waves lapped against the hull and the gulls flew lazily past. He took a deep breath as he leaned against the rail, inhaling the salty, frigid air deeply into his lungs and closing his eyes as he felt the icy wind ruffle his hair. Even though it was winter, Kirkwall was a fair bit warmer than the same season in Honnleath; persons from farther north would find it uncomfortable, but Cullen thought the current weather more than tolerable. It also helped settle his slightly uneasy stomach…

“Enjoying freedom?”

Cassandra’s voice came from his left. She had meandered up beside him and was now leaning on the railing with him, giving him a sideways glance. She seemed to be appraising him with those dark eyes of hers, but her expression was unreadable.

She did not wait for an answer from him before she added, “Tell me… do you have any regrets about leaving the Order?”

“No.”

The answer was out before he could think about it fully, and he wondered what she would think of its abruptness. His response seemed to please her, however, as she nodded. “I felt the same when I rejected Lambert’s orders. I know you must have thought it when I first spoke with you in your office, but I did not come to Kirkwall as a Seeker. I came as a servant of the Divine, and nothing else. Much like you, I refused to follow my Order when it took a path I did not agree with.”

Cullen was silent for a long moment before he replied without looking at her, “I idolized the Templars as a boy. I never once thought I wasn’t doing the right thing by joining them, or that the Order was anything other than what I _believed_ it to be. I was completely devoted to it. And now…”

He trailed off. The bitterness was evident in his tone, and it was her turn to be quiet for a while. At last, however, she answered slowly, “Devotion gives one purpose in life. But it can also blind one to truth.” She looked at him intently. “I may not follow my fellow Seekers any longer, but I still pursue the truth. And the truth is that both the Seekers and the Templars have been led astray. Now, it is up to us to correct that mistake and bring them back to the fold.”

He stared at the water below, watching the sunlight glint off of each wave crest. “And if they cannot be brought back?”

“Then the Inquisition will destroy them.”


End file.
